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At the suggestion of Scott Slinker (https://twitter.com/scott_slinker) who highly recommended The Trail Drivers of Texas, I immediately purchased the book and read it in three days. In Scott’s own words, “Incredible first-hand accounts of the real west and the hardships and experiences they faced.” I was fascinated to learn about the early cowpunchers and their lives on the range. These were the men who fathered the cattle industry in Texas.

From the cattle drivers who faced danger on the plains, including warring Native American tribes, my curiosity led me to Quanah Parker and the town named after the Comanche chief. Quanah, Texas, is located in Hardeman County and is 8 miles south of the Red River which forms the Oklahoma-Texas state line. During one of his visits to Quanah, Chief Parker bestowed his blessing on the town. 

“May the Great Spirit smile on you little town, may the rain fall in season, and the warmth of the sunshine after the rain, may the earth yield bountifully. May peace and contentment be with your children forever.”

Searching for a more in-depth account of Quanah life, I bought Empire of the Summer Moon by S. C. Gwynne. Other books I’ve read about the Comanche chief have scratched the surface, but Gwynne’s book expounds on two astonishing stories. One traces the rise and fall of the most powerful Indian tribe in American history, and the second, the epic saga of  the most famous Indian captive—a pioneer woman named Cynthia Ann Parker.

Cynthia was born in Illinois in 1827, before the Parker family moved to Texas in 1833 and built Fort Parker east of Waco. In 1836, the fort was attacked by Comanche warriors and young Cynthia was taken captive. She spent twenty-four years with the tribe and during that time married Peta Nocona, a Comanche chief. They had two sons and a daughter. Their eldest son was named Quanah. Cynthia had several opportunities to leave the Comanches but refused. At one point, she was abducted by Texas Rangers and returned to her white family, but was unhappy and struggled to adapt to the white man’s world. A number of times she tried to escape back to her Comanche tribe, but failed. Her story is one of hardship but, like many pioneers of the time, also one of happiness. 

Gwynne’s exhilarating book covers the many wars fought by the Comanches over four decades, encompasses Spanish colonialism, the American Civil War, the destruction of the buffalo herds, and the arrival of the railroads: the history that shaped Texas and the United States.

Trail blazers still on my mind, my literary interest circled back to Fort Worth and led to my recent purchase of Lost Fort Worth by Mike Nichols. Mr. Nichols is a fifth-generation Texan who was born near the Fort Worth Stockyards. He worked for the local newspaper, the Fort Worth Star-Telegram, for twenty-three years. At age 62, he began to chronicle the history of Fort Worth from his seat on a bicycle with his camera slung around his neck. In his own words, “I went to work for the Star-Telegram, traveled all seven continents, and I came back home thinking that Fort Worth is a really interesting place.”

Lost Fort Worth synopsis: “Fort Worth began as a frontier Army camp and grew into a city as cattle drives, railroads, the stockyards and packing plants, oil, and national defense drove its economy. During the tremendous growth, the landscape and cultural imprint of the city changed drastically, and much of Cowtown was lost to history.” 

But in Lost Fort Worth, we can “Join author Mike Nichols on a stroll down Memory Lane from the cattle pens on the North Side to the Battle of Buttermilk Junction on the South Side, from Randol’s mill on the East Side to the Army’s Camp Bowie on the West Side. Witness the birth of Western swing music and the death of a cloud dancer. See mansions of the well-heeled and saloons of the well-armed. Meet Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, Clyde Barrow and Rube Burrow, Sisters of Charity and ladies of the evening. Along the way you’ll also pass four trolley parks, three World War I airfields, two gunfighters, one flamboyant preacher, one serial killer, and one very short subway that carries readers back in time to Lost Fort Worth.”

After reading Nichols’s book, I wanted to learn more about the author and Fort Worth’s history, so I logged onto his blog, Hometown by Handlebar: https://hometownbyhandlebar.com/

Sadly, Mike Nichols passed away on March 5, 2023, at the age 74 of complications from cancer.

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Texas: Doves Rest Cabins

Canyon view from one of the cabins at Doves Rest.

A few months back, a fellow giant schnauzer owner had suggested that Palo Duro Canyon was the ideal overnight spot to break up the twelve-hour drive from our home in Texas to our destination in northern New Mexico. 

After he showed me a couple of shots he had taken of Palo Duro Canyon, I was sold. Photo opp, I thought. I also took our friend’s advice and booked a cabin at Doves Rest. The cabin we chose allowed pets and was picture-perfect for photographing the canyon’s West Rim.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Cruising along State Highway 217 (Palo Duro Drive), we were so busy chuckling over the name of a general store in the area – the Sad Monkey Mercantile – that we missed the turnoff to Sunday Canyon. When we caught sight of the entrance to Palo Duro Canyon, we knew we’d gone too far and retraced our route. 

A mile down Sunday Canyon Road, we turned onto Lighthouse Trail and soon came to the gated entrance to the cabin. We entered our security code into the keypad, parked in the driveway, and began unpacking a few things for our two-night stay. 

Our first order was to secure Bullet inside the cabin. The resort management is careful to point out, in their FAQs, the dangers of the nearby cliffs.

“Cliff danger:

The beautiful cliffs around our cabins are made up of Caliche (hard baked clay) and it crumbles under foot. The sheer drop-offs run anywhere to 50-feet to over 200-feet. We ask you to take this under consideration when you bring small children.”

Having spent all day in the car, Bullet was content to sack out on his own bed near the picture window in the living room, in full view of the canyon cliffs.

On our first night at the cabin we had only one thing on our agenda—nothing! We carried our drinks to the flagstone patio to watch the sunset and relax. 

“Great choice,” said hubby as he settled into an Adirondack chair to enjoy the pleasant evening. Great choice indeed: private and peaceful, exactly what we needed after a seven-hour day of driving and exploring Caprock Canyons State Park. 

The brilliant, colorful sunset slowly melted below the canyon rim, and a crisp breeze crept across the patio. Then thousands of stars studded the dark Texas sky. Tomorrow, we’d explore Palo Duro Canyon State Park.

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Texas: The BAD

I had visited Dallas on many occasions after moving to Texas to dine, shop, or attend art shows at the DMA—Dallas Museum of Art. But I had never been to the BAD, and quite frankly I had no idea what the acronym stood for, until my brother, a recent transplant to Dallas, said he would meet me for Sunday brunch in the BAD. 

Only after I plugged the address for Hattie’s restaurant into my map app did I realize that the BAD—Bishop Arts District—was located in the heart of North Oak Cliff, an area I did know to some degree, as I had been patronizing a local grooming shop on West Davis Street for a few years. 

This is what you miss when you go from point A to point B and never bother to explore your surroundings. If I had continued down Davis toward Beckley I may’ve stumbled upon this quaint hidden-gem with its indie shops, eclectic restaurants, and colorful street art. When I arrived in the BAD my reaction, like many other new visitors, was “I had no idea this kind of place existed in Dallas.” 

But the Bishop Arts District, simply North Oak Cliff to the locals, has been there for more than a hundred years, and is the largest trolley-era shopping district dating back to the arrival of the streetcar line in 1904. The historic buildings grew up around the trolley stop and have managed to survive demolition as Dallas developed and freeways were constructed north and east of the unique community. For me, it was love at first sight, and it soon became a new go-to spot for eating, shopping, and hanging with friends, especially when our giant schnauzer group received an exuberant welcome from the outdoor cafe owners. 

After these K-9 gatherings, to take the energy edge off my wired female Shotz, I routinely walked the streets of the BAD, drinking in its casual vibe. Slowly, I branched out into other neighborhoods of Oak Cliff. On one of these jaunts I found myself in the Tenth Street Historic District Freedman’s Town—a treasure threatened by demolition. Although I love modern architecture, I have a deep appreciation for the old and feel it should be preserved for its history.  

Speaking of history, one of the first settlers in Oak Cliff was William Henry Hord who had come west to “assist with Native American issues.” He was granted 640 acres to farm and set about building his homestead. 

In 1886, developer Thomas L. Marsalis landed in the Dallas area. He purchased hundreds of acres including most of Hord’s 640-acre farm—Hord Ridge—with the intention of realizing his dream to create a settlement in the area. 

Partnering with John Armstrong, another enterprising developer, the two planned to market “this cozy farming settlement” as a prestigious residential community. They advertised it as the “Cambridge of the South,” and the settlement flourished. Marsalis changed the name from Hord Ridge to Oak Cliff, supposedly for the stately green oaks on the cliffs (the bluffs) that overlooked the Trinity River.

In time, disagreements between Marsalis and Armstrong soured their partnership, with Marsalis staying in Oak Cliff and Armstrong going on to develop a community north of the Trinity—Highland Park. 

In 1893, due to a financial downturn, the money-strapped Oak Cliff voted to annex itself to the City of Dallas. So Oak Cliff and Dallas are now one? Not really, for the Trinity River physically separates this quaint southern suburb from the rest of Dallas, and today the area has retained much of its identity as a separate community within Dallas. 

Before we leave, you may wonder how Dallas got its name. This is probably one of the biggest conundrums in the city— no one really knows why it’s called “Dallas.” 

Side Note: I am sorry to say that Hattie’s in Oak Cliff has closed.

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